Driven to Temptation, page 5
“I like the outdoors too,” he said blandly.
He’d learned long ago that personal made a guy vulnerable. Since the time he was placed in his first foster home, he’d made it a point not to share more than he had to, and the experience was reinforced when he’d married Elizabeth.
Not that he’d been ill-treated or anything. On the contrary. His foster families took good care of him, were part of the reason he’d worked so hard to get through school, part of the reason he’d joined ROTC and made it through college. Without the army he’d have never been able to pay for college, wouldn’t have pursued geospatial engineering the way he’d wanted to since he was a teen. He was a high school junior when Harold, his foster mom’s brother, had first introduced the subject to him. The guy knew the business, had the contacts, but didn’t have the drive to run his own company the way Aidan had.
Yeah, Aidan had been determined to pull himself out of the hole he’d been in since his parents’ deaths made him a ward of the state when he was twelve. And he’d done a damned fine job of it.
He glanced ahead to check for oncoming traffic. None. Good. Accelerating the engine, he passed the camper that seemed to believe it was still in Spear Lake Junction and subjected to the town’s twenty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit. The truck’s engine growled with pleasure at the effort, almost like it’d been waiting for the opportunity.
Which half described him.
“What do you do? Ride? Hike? Raft?”
She wasn’t going to let it drop, was she? “A little of everything.”
Even though he kept his gaze on the road, Aidan felt her stare, almost like she was trying to figure him out as hard as his brain was working to figure her out. He held himself as still as possible, the comfortable pose so much a part of him since he’d first practiced it as a young boy.
Another thing Aidan had learned young was the art of staying still. Staying still meant not drawing attention to himself, and not drawing attention to himself meant he’d generally keep his foster parents happy so that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to move anymore.
“You ever hike Chinaman Hat?” Delaney’s voice busted through his thoughts, effectively scattering them.
“‘Hike’s’ a loose term,” he said drily. “‘Scale’ is more like it. I suppose you’ve been up that cliff a few times.”
She reached for her Gatorade bottle. “Actually,” she said, twisting off the cap, “I’ve never hiked it.” She took a huge gulp of the bluish liquid, and he half expected an unladylike burp from her after she swallowed. “I have made it onto the observation deck at the bottom of the hill. A lot.”
“Can’t make yourself start the climb, huh?” He wasn’t sure why, but there was a tiny sense of relief she hadn’t ever attempted the steep ascent.
“I just never found the need to.”
He threw her a sideways glance. “You’d drive more than a couple of hours from Milestone to stay at ground level? Why bother?”
She hesitated. He was sure that’s why she’d chosen that moment to shove more than a few corn chips in her mouth. But rather than push her, Aidan stayed silent. If she wanted to tell him, that was fine, but he wasn’t going to force an answer from her no matter how curious he was.
The crunching stopped a moment later. “It’s my thinking ground,” she said. “It’s quiet, and peaceful, and if there aren’t a lot of people around, like at this time of the year, you can almost hear your wish granted as it’s echoed into Chinaman Hat.”
There was a strange twist to her voice. Wistful, maybe?
In the short time he’d known Delaney, “wistful” wasn’t a word he’d have associated with her. Yet the way she’d said it was as though she believed the old legend of the ancient Chinese medicine man. “You think burning an offering in the fire pit will cause a hunk of rock to grant your deepest wish?”
“Why not?”
He frowned. She couldn’t be serious. “According to legend, he told his father he’d just as soon stay in Oregon as a rock if it meant he could be with some girl. Who does that?”
She sniffed. “Apparently, not you.”
That, he knew, was part of his problem. The ability to loosen the reins of his life, to just be chill enough to roll with whatever was tossed his way—that quality was nowhere near his DNA.
“Besides, it’s a legend, Aidan. It can’t be substantiated one way or the other. What’s so wrong with believing in it? Look.” She pointed ahead. “The turnoff’s right there. Want to stop? It won’t take very long.”
“No.”
She slumped against the seat. “Figured you’d say that.”
“So why’d you ask?”
“Because not asking the question would’ve been a definite no.” She uncapped the Gatorade bottle and swallowed another mouthful.
Self-assured…champion of lost dogs…and not afraid to ask for what she wanted.
She sighed, the sound soft and breathy and making him half hard for her. Again.
She uncrossed her legs and leaned toward him.
Every muscle in his body tensed, including the brain south of his waistband. “What the hell are you doing now?”
“Grabbing my jacket.” She reached back, and Aidan couldn’t keep his eyes from straying toward her chest and the tight nubs that teased him through the thin fabric of her cami.
Teased? Tormented was more like it.
“Cold? I could turn up the heat.”
“No. Got it,” she declared triumphantly, pulling the jacket to the front. “I hope I left my phone in it.”
Her phone? They were more than an hour from Spear Lake Junction and the great dog encounter.
She pulled the phone out. “Got it.”
He raised an eyebrow. He had a process for everything, including keeping track of stuff so it wasn’t lost. Apparently not a trait she possessed.
After neatly folding the jacket, she leaned toward him again. The top of her head brushed his shoulder, and he caught a whiff of her scent. Apples?
Aidan shifted in his seat as she faced forward and picked her purse up off the floorboard.
“Do you ever keep still?”
“Of course I do.” There was a trace of indignation in her voice as she rummaged through it. She pulled out a pad of paper and a pen…and immediately clicked it in time to some silent beat. A beat that somehow reached out to him…drew him closer…practically begged him to pull her into his arms and explore every sweet inch of her body.
Damn. It.
He gave himself a mental shake, then leaned forward and flicked on the radio. There had to be something on that would distract him. He stopped when a rift of classic Van Halen flooded the cab. There. That was better.
Before long Delaney dropped the pen in her lap and picked up her latest in a long line of so-called food. She crunched on a chip and offered him the bag. “You sure you don’t want one?”
“I don’t eat junk food, remember?” Well, not unless it was his Achilles’ heel: a special brand of barbecue potato chips. And even then he’d stare at it a good long time—days, even—before he’d bother to open the bag. It always helped to make things last, didn’t it? To savor each bite the way he’d been taught.
She shrugged. “How come Harold goes to trade shows with you?”
He raised an eyebrow at the sudden shift in conversation. “Questioning my management decisions?”
She tilted her Gatorade bottle his direction. “Just trying to get to know you better. And to ignore the…music.” Her full lips formed into a smile, one that reached her eyes and made him wonder for one insane moment if he had what it took to make a go of it, even for a little while, with a woman like her.
But if she knew who he was, deep down, she wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him.
And for some strange reason, Aidan wasn’t in any hurry for that to happen.
…
Trees. Lots and lots of trees in this section of the highway. Some turning gorgeous shades of oranges, yellows, and reds. A contrast to what was mostly barren stretches of central Oregon high desert.
Look at the pretty trees.
Birds sit in them, deer rest underneath them, people picnic around them.
Dogs pee on them.
Delaney squirmed in her seat, rapped her knuckles on the passenger side windowpane. Oh, hell.
She really couldn’t deny it any longer. Every distraction she’d tried for the past fifteen minutes wasn’t helping. And if she didn’t say something soon, she knew she’d miss an opportunity to stop. “Aidan?”
“Yeah?”
“I have to pee.”
To his credit, he didn’t take his eyes off the road, but she felt his glare anyway.
“You just went.”
“That was a long time ago.” She wiggled uncomfortably. Really, you’d think the guy considered it on par with capital punishment, the way he threw her an indignant look. “What’s the big deal? There’s a rest area a couple miles ahead. Problem solved.” She rapped her knuckles harder. “I’ve been holding it for the past fifteen minutes.”
“Why don’t you use the Gatorade bottle?”
He had to be kidding. “What?” She glared at him, sure she hadn’t quite heard him right.
“The Gatorade bottle. It’s empty, isn’t it?”
He didn’t just say that, did he? “Yeah, but in case you hadn’t noticed, my plumbing’s way different from yours.”
He glanced at the dashboard again. Probably trying to figure out if there was enough time to stop.
“Maybe if you didn’t drink so much Gatorade, you wouldn’t have to go so often.”
“Oh, sure, you’d rather have me go thirsty than stop and use the restroom.”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
“Aidan, seriously?” She picked up a pen and traced a star on a sketch in her notebook.
“You certainly don’t have a problem asking for anything, do you?”
She looked intently at her drawing, then blew out a breath between slightly parted lips. “I figure I owe it to all women to stand up for what I want. If more of us do that, that’s how we’ll change the world.” She nodded once.
“What if a woman wanted to marry and raise kids? Wouldn’t she still be changing the world?”
“I suppose that’s what you want, huh? Someone to be your support system while you go out and make things happen.” There was no way to keep the irritation from her voice. Not that she’d tried very hard.
“Just trying to make conversation.”
“Oh, well, then. Of course she could. But only if it’s what she really wanted to do.” She tapped the end of her pen on the pad’s spiral ring.
How could she begin to explain it, to make him understand? Because for reasons she didn’t want to examine, it was important he did.
“See, life’s about opening up your heart to the possibilities,” she ventured. “It’s about letting all the parts of it in and really experiencing it. How’s a woman supposed to do that if she’s pigeonholed because of her gender?”
He was so still she had to wonder if he heard her. Come to think of it, they’d been on the road a couple of hours, and he’d been statue-still for most of the drive. How’d he do it? More importantly, why’d he do it? She tapped her pen harder and ignored the burning need to ask.
“The problem is,” she continued, “most women are too wrapped up in what society tells them they should be, then they plan every second so that the joy of living—really living—gets lost in the minutiae.”
Which was exactly what she didn’t want to happen to her. Because as much as she wanted to reach the goals she’d set for herself, she was also determined to have some fun along the way. Otherwise, what was the point?
“You don’t lack confidence, do you?”
“Nope. I suppose you don’t think that’s very ladylike. And for the record, I’m way okay with that.”
This time, when he glanced at her, there was a full-out grin on his face. “Is that so? You want to be seen as a guy?”
“I want to be seen as an equal.”
“An equal.” He nodded. “But not a lady.”
“Depends on what you consider a lady.”
On a straight shot of roadway, he slowed the truck’s speed and stared at her, his gaze starting at the top of her head and slowly, leisurely, glancing down her body.
And she responded. God, did she respond. Like he touched her instead of just looked, like he wanted her as much as she knew, deep down, she wanted him. Which was among the dumbest things to cross her mind. Ever.
“You know I was just kidding about not stopping.” He slowed the truck further and pulled into the rest area.
She smiled. “I know. Thanks for distracting me.”
“Make it quick,” he added as he waited for another truck to pull out of a parking stall.
So much for the distraction. Her body reverted back to its immediate need. “Should I jump out now or wait for you to park?”
“Smart-ass.”
She grinned at him. “Wouldn’t want to taint my reputation with you.”
Because that was the safest thing, wasn’t it? To stay one of the guys so she could be taken seriously. Somehow, convincing herself was harder this time.
Chapter Eight
Delaney climbed back into the truck, then slammed the door closed.
“Seven minutes,” he said. “Not too bad.”
“You timed me? Seriously?”
“Got to stay on schedule.”
“Would it really matter if we were a few minutes late? The electronics store won’t close for a few hours. Plenty of time for us to get there.”
Aidan maneuvered the truck back onto the highway. “Anything can happen. I prefer to be early than roll the dice.”
Now there was a surprise. Not.
She leaned back, the soft leather cradling her, then turned her head and stared at him, stared at his large hands gliding over the steering wheel again.
Capable hands. Hands that made love to the leather-covered metal, gripping hard when he maneuvered around a curve, then loosening, gentling on the straight stretches.
“You’re staring.”
Busted.
She tore her gaze away and gave herself a mental shake. She eased in a deep breath. “No, I’m not.”
The man oozed testosterone, did all sorts of things to her, things she knew she shouldn’t act on. But, God, he was temptation on two muscled legs.
“You’re a lousy liar.” He chuckled, the sound a deep, soft, sexy rumble that blended with the power of the truck racing down the highway. What would that chuckle sound like in bed?
Okay. She really had to get her mind out of the gutter. Aidan was her boss, for heaven’s sake.
She tapped her foot in time to the beat of the music still blaring out of the truck speakers. “How do you know I’m lying?”
“You’re turning an adorable shade of pink.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a teasing smile, one that lit up his eyes.
If he wasn’t her boss? Well, she’d definitely make a play for the guy. Who wouldn’t? Even Blondie had hit on him, and there was little doubt the woman could’ve had any man. But why lust after something so not possible?
“Turning pink’s the curse of redheads,” she said, reaching for her handbag. She peered inside, then rummaged through the remaining snacks. She frowned. No more corn chips. Well…barbecue chips it was, then.
She pulled the bag out and tore it open. “I don’t suppose you want some?” Too late, she heard the double entendre in her otherwise innocent question.
“Depends. What are you offering?” His tone was even, but curious.
Oh God, had he heard it, too? Or was it just her overactive imagination hard at work? “Chips.” She held the bag out.
“Maybe.” He chuckled again, like he’d been privy to her horny thoughts. “Aunt Molly’s,” he said, his gaze still on the road.
“Huh?”
“Aunt Molly’s barbecue potato chips,” he repeated. “I’d recognize it anywhere.”
The bag in her hand crinkled as she angled it to look at the label. “For someone who doesn’t eat junk food, you seem pretty familiar with this one. How come?”
He said nothing, but a muscle in his jaw tightened. The mostly calm, cool, collected Aidan Ross had a sore spot over potato chips? That didn’t make sense.
“You brought it up,” she reminded him, holding the bag out again. “You want some or not?”
He hesitated, swallowed deeply, like he was trying to make up his mind.
She frowned as the song blaring out of the speakers faded. “Look, as much as you work out, a few of these won’t hurt you.”
A corner of his mouth crooked up. “That’s okay.”
The music started up again. “You sure? It’s pretty good.”
“I know. It’s my favorite.”
His favorite? She frowned. That didn’t make any sense, either. “Then how come you don’t want any?”
“I have my reasons.”
Really, how much more cryptic could the guy be? It was like he was talking about life-changing events instead of some measly potato chips.
Well, whatever…
“Would it bother you if I ate this, then? I can put it away. I brought some cookies with me, too. Double chocolate chip. Those are my favorite.”
“Why don’t you eat that first, then?”
“I like saving the best for last.” She folded over the top of the bag. “But I can put this away and start on those now.”
“Look, Delaney, don’t worry about it, okay?”
The way he faced forward doing the statue thing, she couldn’t read his eyes, couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. She shrugged, grabbed a chip, and bit into it. Whatever was bugging him had to have run pretty deep.
“So,” he said after a moment. “You make trips to Portland a lot?”
“Nope.” Not that she hadn’t had more than her share of phone-calls-turned-arguments with her parents. If they’d only respect the fact she was more than capable of cutting it in a man’s world, maybe she wouldn’t have made the insane bet with her mother. Head a major project before the end of the year or go home.
